Wizard Appreciation Week
by snowmaid23
Summary: Sequel to Muggle Appreciation Day. Draco arrives at the Dursley's to visit Dudley for a whole week.
1. The Adventure Begins

A/N: This story is decidedly AU after the Half-Blood Prince, but I've been planning it for so long that I'm going to go ahead and write it anyway. Let's just say that if the characters belonged to me and not to J.K. Rowling, something like this would definitely have been included in that book! ;)

* * *

If things kept going at this rate, this was definitely going to be Dudley's best vacation from Smeltings ever! Things had started out rather badly. After he'd been home only a few days, Dudley and his mother had been escorted to Hogwarts, where the term was still wrapping up, by the formidable wizard Dumbledore. At first he'd been terrified, but by the end of his very eventful day there, he'd had an adventure (one that was scary at the time but kind of neat now that he looked back on it) and made a new friend. A new friend who just happened to be a wizard, and whom he'd invited rather impulsively to spend the summer at his house.

After a lot of discussion and a significant bribe (with this thought, Dudley glanced at his new PS2 with a look of smug satisfaction), Mumsy had gotten him to understand that the whole summer was a very long time to spend with someone he'd just met, and that anyway, Draco's mother was unlikely to let him leave home for quite that long. After all, summer was the only time in the whole year she got to see her son, and if Mrs. Malfoy was as devoted to her little boy as Mummy was to her own precious Dudders (here she'd stroked his cheek and looked at him with that gleam in her eye that only he could give her), she'd never be willing to let him go for the entire summer. After some more negotiation (and at this, Dudley's glance fell upon the new boxing gloves hanging in the closet), it had been decided that Draco would be invited to stay one week.

Since they didn't know Draco's postal address, Dudley had been forced to be civil to his cousin Harry just long enough to borrow his owl. He'd written a short note to Draco inviting him to come visit any week during the summer that he'd like, and to send a reply stating when that would be. Mumsy had written a longer letter to Mrs. Malfoy full of details about their charming home in Little Whinging and Vernon's responsible position in the community and how pleased they would be to welcome Draco into their thoroughly respectable lifestyle for a week. The owl had been sent off, and only two days later it had returned, bearing an enthusiastic letter from Draco saying he'd be there the next Monday, and a short, curt letter from Mrs. Malfoy thanking Mrs. Dursley for her hospitality.

The only problem in all this was that Daddy didn't know anything about it. Dudley wasn't used to keep secrets from his father, but Mummy had convinced him with a summer's worth of karate lessons that it would be best if Daddy didn't know anything about Draco's visit right now, and that right before Draco came they'd just say that he was a friend that Dudley had met at school, and there was no need for him ever to know that the school was Hogwarts or that Draco was a wizard.

Although he'd never have admitted it to her and risk not getting his bribe, Dudley had to admit that his mother had a point. Vernon Dursley, ordinarily such a good and generous daddy, could be kind of scary when faced with any kind of evidence about the wizarding world. When they were little, Dudley had blamed this all on Harry. If that little twerp hadn't been able to do all those magical things, then his daddy would never have had a reason to get mad. But now that he'd actually been to Hogwarts and seen it for himself, he knew that there were a lot of things in this world besides Harry that would make his father red in the face and sputtering. And unfortunately, his new friend happened to be one of those things.


	2. Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor

Draco thought this this summer vacation might not turn out too badly, after all. The beginning of the summer had been horrible. He'd successfully passed his apparition test before leaving Hogwarts, only to find out upon arriving home that he had nowhere to apparate to. His mother insisted that he spend the whole summer safely within the confines of Malfoy Manor. She was much too busy working on the Dark Lord's business with Aunt Bellatrix to be constantly worried about the whereabouts of her only son. He'd protested that he was now of age and should be able to what he pleased, but his whining had only ever worked on his father, and with him still in Azkaban, Draco wasn't going to get any support there. His mother had listened to his arguments carefully and then told him firmly that she was not going to change her mind. "Furthermore," she'd added, "if I hear from the house elves that you have been apparating without my permission, Aunt Bellatrix here will be in charge of your punishment." One glance at his mother's sister, whose eyes were gleaming with madness, was enough to convince him he really didn't want to leave home anyway.

Not that it was any sort of a punishment to be grounded when your home was Malfoy Manor. The house, while smaller than Hogwarts castle, would have easily had room for 10 families the size of the Malfoy's, and the extensive grounds, fully warded against unexpected intruders, were large enough to get lost in for days at a time. Still, Draco didn't like limits, and he probably would have chafed against his mother's rules even if she'd limited him merely to staying on the isle of Britannia.

So he'd been extremely pleased when he'd gotten the owl from that Muggle boy, the one he'd been in the Chamber of Secrets with only a few weeks before. Oh, not at first. When he'd seen that big snowy owl of Potter's tapping at his window, he'd thrown a slipper at her in an attempt to make her go away. Nothing he could hear from Potter at this point would do him any good, and it would probably just make him mad. But the owl was quite insistent, and finally he opened the window and removed the parchment from her leg. But wait, there were two missives, and neither of them were parchment at all. One was on a creamy yellow piece of paper that reeked of flowers, and the other was on a rough white paper with blue lines all over it and funny scallops on one edge. Neither seemed like anything Potter would send, especially not the floral scent. So he opened the letters and read them. He got a delighted grin on his face as he did so.

He didn't really like the Muggle boy, Dudley, that much, but he was an ok sort and spending a week with him wouldn't be too terrible. Better than that, Draco would get to spend a week under the same roof as Potter. What wonderful opportunities for spying he would have! And of course there was the novelty of apparating all the way across Britain by himself and getting to stay in a Muggle household.

It took a bit of convincing before his mother would agree to let him go to Little Whinging, wherever that might be, but in the end the letter from Mrs. Dursley had won her over. "She sounds like a middle-class twit, but I've no doubt you'd be safe enough under her care. After all, she's managed to keep the Potter boy alive for all these years. And none of my associates would ever think of looking for you there." She seemed to have forgotten Draco entirely as she said the last part, and it took him by surprise. Why wouldn't she want him to meet the Dark Lord's other followers? He was of age by now. Was she going to treat him like a baby forever? But he wisely kept his mouth shut for the time being. Better she didn't know he suspected anything.

Without much practice at apparition, Draco was quite nervous about going there on his own, but on the appointed day and time, after studying the maps and charts in the library almost obsessively, he left the grounds of Malfoy Manor and arrived at the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. He knocked on the door and a large disagreeable-looking Muggle opened it. "Who the hell are you?" he said threateningly.

Draco gulped. "I'm Draco Malfoy, sir," he stammered.


	3. Vernon Welcomes the Guest

Vernon Dursley was not having a good summer. If there was one thing he valued above all others in this world, it was routine. "Normality and regularity are what make the world go round," his dear, sainted mother had often said, and it was advice he kept foremost in his mind at all times. But this summer had not been normal or regular in the slightest.

The first sign had been that evening, soon after Dudley came home from school for the summer, when he'd returned from work at Grunnings and found no one home, no supper waiting on the table, and only a cryptic note from Petunia about shopping for boxing gloves. Certainly it was important for his son to have top-of-the-line sporting equipment, but he'd been coming home at precisely five o'clock every weekday for the past 20 years, and Petunia had never before failed to greet him at the door with a peck and an announcement that dinner was on the table.

He'd sat and stewed for half an hour until his prodigal wife and son had suddenly appeared on the garden walk, looking completely flustered and out of breath. And worst of all, with no boxing gloves to show for their efforts. (He'd taken special notice of the day two weeks later when the gloves finally arrived in the post.) Petunia had been profusely apologetic in a way that instantly told him she was covering something, and he'd been watching her ever since.

Dudley was acting peculiar as well. There'd been the day a week ago when he'd gone into the kitchen for a bit of leftover pudding after supper and found his son, Smeltings boxing champion, washing dishes with Harry like a common houseboy! And he couldn't help feeling from the guilty look that Dudley occasionally cast his way that the boy was hiding something from him, probably at the request of his mother.

Today had been worst of all. Dudley and Petunia had been avoiding him as much as possible, and Harry had been sulking in his room all day. Clearly something was afoot. And so, when an imperious rapping sounded at the door, Vernon had thrown it open, already in a black mood. What he saw didn't ease his mind one bit. There at the door stood a pale, pointed boy of about Harry's age, wearing a most unusual black traveling cloak affixed at the collar with a silver pin in the shape of a dragon. He was instantly sure that this was one of Harry's kind. "Who the hell are you?' he barked.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, sir," the boy stammered.

"What are you doing bothering us at this hour?" Vernon interrogated further.

Before the boy could reply, Petunia stepped up behind Vernon and said, in the flustered way that was her hallmark of late, "Vernon, this is _Dudley's_ friend Draco, from school. He is going to be spending the week with us."

Vernon turned on his wife. "And why was I not informed of this?"

Petunia stammered, "Because it was supposed to be a surprise. For Dudley. For his birthday tomorrow. And I know how you could never keep a secret from your own little boy, so I thought it best not to tell either of you."

What Petunia had just said was obviously a load of hogwash, but it was best to be civil for the time being. He turned back to his visitor and instantly put on his most ingratiating tone. "Come in, come in, Mr. Malfoy, was it? Make yourself at home. I'm sorry I was so rude to you earlier, but I thought you might have been one of my nephew's friends. He hangs around with the most disagreeable sort of people, you know. He goes to St. Brutus' School for Incurably Criminal Boys."

For some reason, the pale boy smirked at this. "Oh, yes, Mr. Malfoy, it's quite shocking. Happens in the best of families these days, I'm afraid." While he prattled on, Vernon had been leading Draco into the living room, where they now sat down. The boy took off his traveling cloak, revealing a perfectly normal but quite expensive-looking gray cashmere sweater with tailored wool pants. Pound signs went off in Vernon's head.

"Tell us something about your family," he asked in what he hoped was a casual manner. "Where do you live, what does your father do, and so on?"

"There isn't really much to tell," Draco said smoothly. "My father has ties to the Ministry, in an unofficial capacity, of course. He's away from home more often than not these days. My mother is quite busy at the moment as well, arranging social events for our Lord. We live at Malfoy Manor."

Vernon's ears perked up at this. It sounded like the boy came from some kind of minor nobility. "And just where is this Malfoy Manor, boy? I'd like to look it up on the map."

"Oh, you wouldn't be able to find it on any map. It's unpl—I mean, too unimportant to show up anywhere."

Just then, Petunia entered the room. "Vernon, why don't you show Draco upstairs? I'd thought he could stay with Dudley."

Vernon had a much better idea. "Nonsense, my dear, I'm sure Mr. Malfoy would like some room to spread out. Why don't we put him in Dudley's second bedroom?" He nudged her in the side.

Petunia looked taken aback, but quickly agreed, and the matter was settled. After a quick check to make sure Harry hadn't left any incriminating items around, Mr. Dursley carried Draco's trunk up to his new room.

Back down in the living room, Vernon took a moment to reflect upon their visitor. He still didn't trust Petunia, but whoever this Malfoy boy was, he seemed like exactly the sort that Dudley would want to know later in life, the kind with connections in the right places. Yes, he wouldn't mind having this boy around at all.


	4. Draco Settles In

The minute the door to Dudley's second bedroom closed and he was finally alone, Draco sat down on the bed to think about all that he had just witnessed. He'd never pictured Vernon Dursley to be anything like the person he'd just met. Rather, from the descriptions he'd gotten from Dudley, Draco had pictured Vernon as a big, clumsy, harmless oaf, rather like Hagrid. Good for an occasional laugh, but easily ignored most of the time. But that had not been what he'd seen at all.

Draco wished he could say he'd never met anyone like Vernon Dursley before, but unfortunately that wasn't true. The more he thought about it, the more familiar it sounded. "Adoring" wife who was really just afraid of him and tried to cater to his every whim. Check. Spoiled son who had never had a chance to learn to think for himself. Check. Perfect home valued more for its worth as a status symbol than as a refuge for the family. Check. Complete and utter hatred of anyone who was different in any way. Check. Yes, they were two peas in a pod—Vernon Dursley and Lucius Malfoy. Draco snorted. He was sure that either of them would be horrified to realize anyone thought them alike in any way.

Now that his thoughts were in order for the moment, Draco could take time to explore Dudley's second bedroom. Honestly, with all the rooms in Malfoy Manor, even Draco only had one bedroom. Why would anyone need two? But a quick perusal of the room's contents told him that maybe Dudley wasn't the room's real occupant. The Hogwarts school trunk and owl cage were strong clues, but it was the Firebolt casually leaning in the corner that was the dead giveaway. This was Potter's room! He'd have to explore it more carefully later, but for right now, it was time for him to get some sleep. It had been a very long day, and he had a feeling the next week was only going to get worse.

The smell of bacon frying awakened him the next morning. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was 8:00. At Malfoy Manor, the house elves usually brought breakfast to his room, but Draco imagined that he would have to go downstairs and eat at the common table with the family.

Once washed and dressed in the Mugglest outfit he owned (no use in making Vernon more suspicious than he already was), Draco went downstairs to the kitchen, where he immediately saw several things that made the eyes bug out of his head. The first thing he noticed was that the kitchen was full of white, whirring things. Most of them gave off a persistent whining noise that made his head hurt. He'd have to learn more about them later. The second thing he saw was Harry Potter standing at the stove cooking breakfast. Draco realized that Muggles never used house elves and that the Dursleys probably wouldn't be able to afford servants, but in Muggle Studies he'd learned that in the typical Muggle household, the mother was in charge of cooking.

But the third thing Draco saw was so surprising that it made him forget the first two. The entire dining room table was covered with packages of all sizes wrapped in brightly-colored paper. Dudley was standing over them with a maniacal gleam in his eye, looking rather too much like Aunt Bellatrix for Draco's taste. "Hi, Draco," Dudley exclaimed. "What did _you_ get me for my birthday?"

Draco's first impulse was to laugh. Did the kid really think that Draco knew about his birthday, let alone cared enough to buy him a present? But then he remembered that for the next week, Dudley was the only person actually on his side. It would be best not to alienate him.

"I left it in my trunk," Draco said smoothly. "I'll be right back." Dashing up the stairs, he grabbed the first thing he saw (a pencil box that Harry had owned since kindergarten) and transfigured it into a model ship. He hastily wrapped it up and brought it back downstairs, where he handed it to Dudley. "Happy birthday, Dudley," was all he could think to say, but since Dudley was still gleaming manically at the presents, it didn't really matter.


	5. Everything Happens to Harry

Since he was forced to spend a part of every summer vacation with his aunt and uncle, Harry had never had a good summer yet, so even he didn't understand why it was bothering him that this one was turning out so crummy. But it definitely was. He'd heard Dudley inviting Draco home with him at the closing reception of Muggle Appreciation Day, but he hadn't honestly believed it could ever come off. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security when neither Aunt Petunia nor Dudley mentioned it in front of him again, but just yesterday morning, after Uncle Vernon left for work, his aunt had taken him aside and told him it was a done deal. That hadn't made Harry very happy, but he'd figured he could just stay holed up in his room as usual and it wouldn't really disrupt his routine, such as it was.

So when Uncle Vernon had summarily dumped a few of his things in the cupboard under the stairs and told him he'd be staying there for the next week, Harry's mood got a lot darker. It'd been bad enough staying there when he was 4 feet tall, but now that he was a lot closer to 6 feet, the logistics of the thing were practically impossible. The only way he could stretch out was to open the door a bit and hang one foot out, but that wasn't exactly comfortable after a few hours either. That wasn't the only reason he found it hard to sleep. The thought of Malfoy spending a whole week in his room, with his trunk and his broomstick and even Hedwig (once she returned from her latest excursion), made Harry feel sick. Not only could Malfoy look into all his secret hiding places, but he could hex or curse any of Harry's possessions.

What's more, Aunt Petunia had specifically promised him that he wouldn't have to move from his room. Uncle Vernon had come up with the plan on his own, and of course she didn't dare oppose him. Harry had no idea why those two were embroiled in a power struggle lately, but even Dudley had noticed by now. In fact, it wouldn't surprise him if Malfoy was picking up on it as well.

So it was a relief to give up the pretense of sleep when Aunt Petunia came banging on his door at 7:00, yelling for him to get up and make Dudley's birthday breakfast. It all reminded him eerily of that day 6 years ago when he'd gotten to go with Dudley to the zoo. That was the last of Dudley's birthdays that he'd awakened in this closet, and he had certainly never expected to do so again. Oh well, he supposed things had come full circle. Next year he'd been an adult and hopefully a Hogwarts graduate. He wouldn't ever have to experience another of Dudley's birthdays again!

Making the mountain of food that Dudley expected for his birthday feast took up most of Harry's next hour. He was only vaguely aware of Draco's comings-and-goings from the room. What he was aware of was the owl that suddenly flew against the kitchen window, almost breaking it. Harry quickly opened the window. The owl dropped an envelope right in front of him on the stove, splattering bacon grease everywhere, and took off again through the window.

After trying ineffectually to wipe the grease off his glasses, Harry opened the envelope. He was getting a very bad feeling about this.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that an advanced transfiguration spell (Class 49A, wooden box into mixed-media toy) was used at fourteen minutes past eight this morning at your place of residence._

_As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school. Since you will reach the age of majority within one month's time, this letter serves as a warning only. If you do no further magic prior to your 17th birthday, this incident will not be reported as part of your permanent record. However, if we become aware of any further use of magic at your residence, you will be immediately expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and your wand will be destroyed._

_With best wishes,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Malfalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

There could be only one explanation for this. Harry put down the letter, adjusted his glasses, and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Malfoy!"


	6. Thoughts from the Birthday Boy

This was Dudley's best birthday ever! In truth, except for that scary time he still didn't like to think about when Harry had pushed him into the reptile cage at the zoo, all of his birthdays had been pretty good. The main reason for that being that if they started out not to be so good, he screamed and yelled at the top of his lungs until they became good. Although he'd never thought of it before, he supposed that screaming and yelling was his own version of magic, and it had never failed him yet.

But this birthday was extra-special, because he had his own wizard here to share it with him. Of course, it could be argued that he'd always had a wizard here on his birthday, but Harry didn't count. Harry was a freak and made Daddy mad and that was all there was to be said on the subject. But in truth, Dudley had always thought that wizards in general were kind of cool. He'd often wished that he had special powers that he could use in non-freakish ways so people would think he was important.

It certainly worked for Draco. From the moment they'd met, Dudley had known he was important. He had a sort of confidence about himself that Dudley wanted more than anything else in the world. He hoped that by having Draco here for a whole week, some of that might rub off on him.

And Draco was so nice! He'd come for Dudley's birthday without even having to be told, and with only a little bit of prompting he'd given him a really neat present, better than all the 47 presents his parents had given him put together. And he had really good manners and knew how to behave as a guest in someone's house, and Dudley just knew they were going to have so much fun for the next week!

After he'd paid the proper amount of attention to his presents, Dudley was so excited about Draco's presence that he couldn't help fussing over him during breakfast. He kept offering him more toast and bacon and got up several times to get him things from the kitchen: marmalade, butter, and even coffee. (Draco must be real grown-up if he drank coffee!) They were having such a good time that the coming and going of the owl passed unnoticed. So it came as quite a shock when Harry suddenly started yelling at Draco from across the room.

Fortunately, Daddy had already gone to work, as he'd never been able to tolerate Harry's yelling at all. Or as he put it, there was to be no yelling at all in the house, unless your last name was Dursley. It was also a good thing because Harry started talking about all kinds of forbidden topics like owls and the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts and transfiguration, whatever that was. Dudley didn't understand a bit of what Harry was saying, but he did know that Draco looked frightened, and that was something Dudley couldn't tolerate. Without waiting for further provocation, he pushed back from the table, got up, and punched Harry squarely in the nose.


	7. Big D and Little D

A/N: Since one of my reviewers has asked, I'd like to point out that this story isn't going to feature any kind of romantic pairing. It's just a fun little story that takes place over one week, so I don't think there's any room for that kind of thing. Sorry if I've disappointed anyone. (Especially you, Dudley!)

* * *

Draco honestly didn't know what to think. He'd dreamed of a moment much like this, seeing Harry laid out on the floor, bleeding, unconscious, and defenseless, for almost 6 years. But he'd always imagined that he'd be the one to put him in that state, and with an elegant and well-chosen hex. Instead, Harry's large Muggle cousin had put him there with a carelessly-aimed fist. It all seemed terribly barbaric.

And pointless. Draco had no idea what Dudley thought he was doing. When Harry started yelling, Dudley had gotten this look on his face that could only be described as chivalric. And then he'd stepped between the two of them and put his fist up in the air as if Draco was a damsel in distress being threatened by a large and fearsome dragon. Draco didn't know which was more laughable: that Dudley thought of Draco as defenseless, or that he was apparently developing quite a crush on him.

But there was no time for such thoughts now. Harry was starting to stir on the kitchen floor, and Mrs. Dursley's footsteps were coming closer. Draco really didn't want to get into some horrible four-way shouting match. In a situation like this, the Slytherin strategy was always the same: Be somewhere else. And so he turned to Dudley as casually as he could and said, "We've been cooped up in this house since I got here. Why don't you show me your neighborhood?" Dudley nodded, beaming with pride, and then, just like that, they were out the kitchen door and walking down the sidewalk away from number 4 Privet Drive.

The first thing Draco noticed was that all the houses in the neighborhood looked the same. With all the colors of paint and architectural plans in the world, everyone had chosen to do the same thing and not look different. As with most things in the Muggle world, Draco was of two minds about this. On the one hand, it appealed to his sense of order and elegance. On the other hand, it seemed horribly unimaginative, not to mention impractical. With these winding streets and lack of obvious landmarks, you'd practically need a roadmap to find your way home every night. Draco wondered if this was why no one except Mr. Dursley ever seemed to leave the house.

Dudley led Draco on a twisting, turning path through the meandering streets (Dudley called them something that sounded like "cuddle-sacks") until they finally arrived at a tired-looking playground. The only equipment was a battered old swing set, and all but one of the swings were broken. The whole place was surrounded by a rickety chain-link fence with a broken padlock on the gate.

A group of boys was scattered aimlessly around the park. But at the sound of Dudley's voice, they all looked up expectantly. "Hey, Big D!" they chorused as one.

"Hey, guys," he shouted back. "This is my friend Draco, and he's staying with me for a week."

The group half-heartedly greeted Draco before going back to what they were doing before, which was mostly a whole lot of nothing. Except for one pale boy with a face like a rat who walked over to them, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Hey, D," he said in a low, nervous voice, "I'm still your best mate, right?"

Dudley looked just as uncomfortable. "Uh, you're my best mate who lives in Little Whinging. You know that, man. I don't need to tell you all the time, do I?"

"No, D," the boy said, and slunk back to the rest of the group.

"That was Piers, but we all call him Ratface these days," Dudley explained to Draco. "He's been my best mate since kindergarten."

Another boy came over. "Draco is a real cool nickname," he said. "How'd you get it?"

Without thinking, Draco automatically replied, "Draco is my real name." And in the next instant, he wished he could do a quick obliviate, because it was inevitable what was going to happen next.

"Hey, everybody," the boy yelled, "Draco here needs a nickname. What do you say we call him?"

The group threw out a whole range of suggestions. Draco's heart skipped a beat when someone said, "Ferretboy," but fortunately they finally decided on the relatively innocuous "Little D." Draco had to admit it was the best of the choices, but it still rankled him. He wasn't _that_ small anymore. Just because he probably weighed as much as one of Dudley's legs was no reason to call him "little." But in the end, he decided to accept the name for one week of his life.

One of the boys who'd been acting as a look-out down the street suddenly came running back. "Mark Evans is coming!" he yelled. Dudley rubbed his hands together and looked like he'd gotten another set of birthday presents.


	8. Everything's relative

Piers Polkiss knew that he was Dudley's staunchest friend. Oh, he wasn't foolish enough to believe that Dudley realized that, but all the same, he himself believed that it was true. He'd put up with a lot from Dudley over the years, and he couldn't even explain why.

The simplest explanation was that Piers had never lived one moment of his life outside of Dudley's shadow. There were very few baby pictures of Piers alone; most were of the two of them together—Piers and Dudley crowded into one playpen with all of Dudley's toys surrounding him, Piers watching as Dudley played on his new rocking horse, Dudley looking on begrudgingly as Piers took a solitary lap on his new tricycle (with Mrs. Dursley standing behind him beaming at how her son was learning to share). As they got older, Piers started to have actual memories of their times together. By that time, their friendship wasunquestioned by everyone, including himself. Eventually they'd started school together, and then they'd even gone off to Smeltings together. Piers had literally never been separated from Dudley for more than a week.

Through all this, no matter how badly Dudley might have been treating his "best mate" at any particular moment, there was always someone who fared much worse—Harry. Over the years, Piers had found it best to ignore Dudley's cousin entirely, but sometimes that was impossible. On those occasions, Piers had realized how lucky he really had it. Dudley talked to him civilly most of the time, occasionally shared his belongings with him, and even once in a while said something nice to him—courtesies that he never extended to Harry. Over time, that had come to seem like enough, and he'd consoled himself with the realization that there was nobody in the world that Dudley treated any better.

But now that carefully constructed mythology was tumbling down around him. Dudley hadn't been able to talk about anything but this Draco kid for the last couple of weeks, and now he was showing him kindnesses that Piers had never experienced in almost 17 years of friendship. Piers was feeling rather disconsolate, and he didn't buy that "my best friend who lives in Little Whinging" line for a moment.

Even so, nothing had prepared him for what was about to happen next. The lookout ran into the playground, yelling "Mark Evans is coming!" and the gang immediately sprang into action. A couple of the guys took off running after the small 12-year-old, and before long they'd dragged him back in front of Dudley, who was sitting on the one working swing much like a king holding court on his throne. Piers moved to assume his traditional role. Other gang members could catch someone, but Piers was the only one Dudley trusted to hold them down while he punched them. However, this time as Piers got up off the grass, Dudley motioned for him to sit back down. "Draco," he said, "I'm going to give you the honor of holding this dirtbag down while I give him what he's got coming to him."

Piers' entire world fell apart, only to come back together again in the next instant, when Draco exclaimed disdainfully, "You want me to do _what_?"

"Just hold him down while I punch him," Dudley repeated. "Haven't you ever done that before?"

"No, and I certainly don't intend to start now," Draco said adamantly. "Malfoys don't dirty themselves with physical violence."

For an instant Dudley looked like he was about to cry, but he quickly restrained himself. "All right then, Piers," he said. "You know what to do."

Piers rejoiced inside as he moved to take his usual position. From his vantage point, it was the best beating that Dudley had ever given.


	9. The Malfoy code

Draco hadn't been entirely truthful with Dudley. Oh, it was true enough that Malfoys didn't resort to physical violence, looking upon it as a Muggle barbarity. But Draco had certainly been forced to do enough Muggle things already that one more wouldn't have made much difference. In truth, he didn't understand the need for violence in this situation at all. But as he and Dudley walked slowly home through the "cuddle-sacks," he determined to find out.

"Dudley," he began, "why don't you tell me about this Mark Evans?"

Dudley grunted. "There really isn't much to tell. He's 12, lives in the neighborhood, kind of a dork."

"No," Draco continued, "I mean tell me what he ever did to you to make you treat him so savagely."

Dudley stared blankly. "I don't think he ever did anything to me except try to run away."

"Perhaps someone in his family hurt someone in your family, then? Is it a family vendetta?"

Dudley laughed. "I think they only have those in the mafia."

"Is it something religious then? Does his family belong to a different sect than you do?"

"Actually, I think I've seen him in Sunday School sometimes," Dudley replied. "He's a bit younger than me, but I think I've seen him in the corridors."

Draco stopped right there in the middle of the sidewalk. "Dudley, just tell me what the reason is why you beat this kid up all the time."

"Oh, that's easy," Dudley replied. "He's slow and easy to catch. And when you punch him, he always squeals like a girl."

Draco felt like throwing up. Did Dudley have no honor, no shame? How could someone whose parents put such a high price on propriety be such a savage? He'd have to devote more thought to this later.

For right now, he put those thoughts aside, as they were drawing close to the Dursley house again. Draco tried to think of a cover story to explain why they'd left suddenly with Harry passed out in the middle of the kitchen floor, but nothing came into his head. He expected a punishment for this, but he was prepared to take it like a Malfoy. After all, the situation was at least partially his fault.

However, when they walked in the door, they were greeted by a smiling Petunia who didn't seem perturbed at all, and there was a rather large, mannish woman sitting at the kitchen table with her. "Dudders," Mrs. Dursley exclaimed, "look who's come for your birthday! It's Aunt Marge!"


	10. History repeats itself

It's already been established that this wasn't a good day for Harry, and it wasn't getting any better. When he woke up on the cold tiled kitchen floor after being punched by Dudley, he'd still been a little bit out of it. He'd hoped for a second to see Madame Pomfrey's face hovering over him, as had happened so often before. Instead, there was only Aunt Petunia, trying her best to cover any concern with a look of revulsion, and for the most part succeeding.

"Hurry, boy, we've got to get you fixed up before Aunt Marge gets here," she'd hissed, pulling him up by the arm and dragging him into the bathroom. She washed the blood off him and bandaged his wounds with her usual cold efficiency, barking instructions as she did so. "If anyone asks, it was one of the neighborhood boys who did this to you, and you deserved it. Not a word to anyone about my Dudders!" (Her voice was tinged with hysteria as she said the last part.) She yanked his arm again. "Do you understand, boy?"

Harry sighed in resignation. He'd learned long ago that it was easiest to go along with his aunt on everything. "Yes, Aunt Petunia." As she was leading him back to his cupboard, a thought tugged at his brain. "What was that you said about Aunt Marge?" he muttered groggily.

"She's coming for Dudley's birthday," Aunt Petunia said. "Not what I would have recommended when we've got two wizards in the house, but what can I do? She doesn't remember a thing about what happened last time she was here in your presence, so she shouldn't be overly suspicious. But I'm warning you, if you don't keep things reined in while she's here and get that Draco to do the same, who knows what will happen?"

She left then, and Harry collapsed onto his cot. He must have gone to sleep, because it seemed only a second later that Aunt Petunia was banging on his door again.

"Harry," she said in a panicky stage whisper, "Aunt Marge is here, and she wants to stay overnight! Go get your things out of Dudley's second bedroom and put them somewhere, anywhere, out of sight! And then move Draco's things to Dudley's first bedroom. They're going to have to room together until she leaves."

That at least gave Harry something to chuckle about as he pictured Draco's face when he heard this news. Somehow he didn't think Draco was going to be able to sleep at all that night. Instead, he'd probably be terrified of sharing a room with the "Muggle oaf."

Harry's mirth didn't last long, as he was soon faced with the conundrum of what to do with his things. Ordinarily he would have shoved them into the cupboard under the stairs, but for some reason that wouldn't work this time. He was strongly tempted to put a shrinking charm on everything and just put it on the top shelf of the closet, but then he remembered the letter from Malfalda Hopkirk and dismissed that as a bad idea. Finally he decided there was no choice but to lug everything down to the basement.

After that was accomplished and Draco's trunk was squashed into Dudley's room, it was almost time for supper. Draco and Dudley had just arrived home and were sitting uncomfortably in the living room with Aunt Marge, who was showing them a huge photograph album with pictures of all her dogs. (Fortunately for Harry, Ripper had died the year before and so was no longer Aunt Marge's traveling companion.) Harry sat down in a chair as far from Aunt Marge as he could and concentrated on looking interested and non-threatening.

It was working pretty well until Uncle Vernon came home. He was full of smiles and hugs for his sister, but couldn't resist bad-mouthing Harry all along, and of course she took the bait. Things were pretty tense by the time they sat down at the dinner table.

"Does the boy still go to St. Brutus', Vernon?" she asked peevishly.

"Yes, I'm afraid he does, Marge," Vernon replied. "When a boy's as twisted as our Harry here, there isn't much that can be done to cure him. Well, it says it right in the name of the school, doesn't it? 'Incurably Criminal boys.' There's really no hope for him at all, I'm afraid. He'll probably end up just like his parents."

Harry was trying his hardest to control himself, but it was quite difficult. Occlumency wouldn't work against Aunt Marge, unfortunately. Her evil was of the ordinary muggle sort. Even so, he was trying as hard as he could to stay calm and focused and not let her words get to him, but it was just barely working. The lights were flickering on and off, and the refrigerator was giving off a decidedly abnormal hum.

If Aunt Marge had remembered what happened last time she goaded Harry, she might have chosen her words more carefully. But a mind as small as hers tends to keep to familiar tracks, so she said pretty much the same thing she did the time before. "Well, I hope they aren't too soft on him at that school of his. I hope it's a thoroughly dreadful place."

A light bulb in the chandelier above the table suddenly popped. Everyone except Aunt Marge looked very frightened, and that made Harry glad. But then something happened that he'd never expected. Draco cleared his throat and spoke. "Oh, it really isn't that bad of a place. I should know. I happen to go there myself."


	11. The Aftermath

Draco couldn't really explain why he had just said that. When he took time to reflect upon it after the fact, he came up with a number of plausible-sounding reasons. Marge Dursley had been driving him nuts ever since he'd met her, talking about her country house like it was some kind of Malfoy Manor, when he was sure it was some little flea-bitten cottage in the middle of nowhere. By speaking disparagingly about Hogwarts, even under the cover identity of St. Brutus', she was unknowingly insulting Draco, and he had to stand up for himself and his school. Harry had been about to use magic in a very frightening and uncontrollable way, and Draco remembered the letter from Mafalda Hopkirk that morning and wanted to avoid further problems with the ministry. All those reasons were true and undoubtedly played some part in his action. But the truth was, he hadn't really thought about it at all. He'd just opened his mouth and the words came out, and now he had to figure out how to play out the hand.

Marge's jaw had just dropped open. Harry was looking stunned, but at least he'd gotten his magic back under control. Petunia and Dudley were looking frantic and giving him the throat-slashing gesture to tell him to shut up. And Vernon—Vernon was actually giggling in that nervous way he had, all too eager to brush off Draco's comment. "That's a good joke, Draco," he said. "Marge, I don't suppose you know what a prankster young Mr. Malfoy here is. Has us in stitches most of the time. Of course, he's not telling the truth. He's actually Dudley's friend and goes to Smeltings. Father is in the Ministry. Mother very high up in the social circle. He's a fine fellow. And what a sense of humor." He threw his arm expansively around Draco, who cringed inwardly at the overly familiar gesture at the same time he was thankful to be relieved of an explanation.

Dudley and Petunia started breathing again, Harry stalked off to his room, and the dinner resumed uneventfully. Without Harry there to goad, Marge and Vernon went back to being their usual boring selves, which was just fine with everyone else. After supper, they all went back to the living room and watched the telly until it was time for bed.

Now this was something Draco found fascinating. The telly was sort of like a moving portrait, the Wizarding Wireless Network, and a stage play all rolled into one. Miniaturized people moved around inside of a little box acting out a story, complete with sound. Periodically the scene would change and other little people would talk about why they loved their brand of orange juice or how much they wanted to take a holiday in Ibiza. It didn't take Draco too long to figure out that these interludes must be commercial advertisements. It was all rather distracting, especially the way the scene kept changing all at once without any explanation, but all the Dursleys loved it, especially Dudley. His favorite program of the evening was something called "Baywatch," involving scantily-clad young people who hung around by the seashore and regularly saved people from drowning. Draco supposed it made sense that Muggles would be poor swimmers, what with no gillyweed or bubblehead charms. But he didn't understand why so many people would keep getting in the water if they didn't know how to swim.

Finally Vernon turned off the telly (which involved pointing a long black thing rather like a wand at it) and announced that it was time for bed. Draco was the first one up the stairs and was just opening the door to his room when Petunia stopped him. "I guess we forgot to mention to you that Aunt Marge will be sleeping in that room tonight, Draco. We've moved all your things into Dudley's room. You'll be sharing with him." It took all Draco's willpower not to apparate back to Malfoy Manor.


	12. Nightfall

Draco had put off this moment as long as possible. He'd gone downstairs for a glass of water, taken an inordinate amount of time finding his pajamas in his trunk, and done every grooming task he could think of in the bathroom. (He hadn't exactly needed to trim his nose hair or tweeze his eyebrows, but it never hurt to be well-kempt, right?) But now the moment had finally come and he was crossing the threshold of Dudley's room.

Things could have been worse. While Dudley only had one bed in his room, it was a gigantic king-size that could have comfortably accommodated three or four normal-sized people. Which meant that even Dudley and Draco could sleep in it without touching. No, that part was probably going to be ok. What Draco was really afraid of was that Dudley was going to want to talk to him about stupid things all night long.

For some reason, Dudley felt compelled to pour out his heart whenever he and Draco were alone together. The first time, down in the Chamber of Secrets, hadn't actually been so bad. That was how they had discovered there mutual hatred of Potter, after all. But now that Draco knew the Dursleys a little better, he knew how many hot-button issues there were in the household. And he desperately didn't want to hear the gory details, especially not as processed through a small mind like that of Dudley's.

Draco finally entered the room and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that Dudley was already asleep. Maybe he'd be able to get through the night without incident after all.

Unfortunately, he soon realized that was not to be. Dudley had often been compared to a baby whale, and unfortunately that label fit his sleeping style as well, which involved a lot of energetic flopping around the bed. It struck Draco as funny that Dudley should be so much more athletic in his sleep than he was during his waking hours. He supposed all the potential energy in Dudley's great bulk had to be expressed some way.

At any rate, it was obvious that sharing a bed with "Big D" was not an option. Draco briefly considered sleeping on the floor, but there was almost no floor space that wasn't taken up by all Dudley's many possessions and Draco's trunk. He even pondered sleeping inside the trunk, but that sounded way too vampiric for his taste. He finally realized that there was a perfectly good sofa in the living room and that he might as well sleep there.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Potter had come to the same realization, as his sleeping form was sprawled over the sofa when Draco arrived downstairs, and no amount of shaking would rouse him. Draco racked his brain for alternatives, and finally came to the conclusion that there was only one.

And thus it was that Draco Malfoy, heir to Malfoy Manor and possessor of proud Slytherin blood, found himself passing a mostly sleepless night on a small, uncomfortable cot in the cupboard under the stairs.


	13. Another Day, Another Plot Development

The next morning, Harry woke up at 6 am, feeling better than he had in a long time. Although the living room sofa wasn't exactly blissful, Aunt Petunia had picked the best one she could find ("Nothing is too good for our guests," she had sniffed), so it was oceans more comfortable to sleep on than the cot in the cupboard under the stairs, and, if truth be told, even better than the bed in Dudley's second bedroom. (Harry smirked as he thought of Aunt Marge tossing and turning there all night.)

Still, he didn't want anyone to know that he'd actually had a good night's sleep for once, since he didn't think any of the Dursleys would be very pleased with that bit of information. So he crept back through the living room and opened the door to his cupboard, only to let out a gasp of surprise. There, sleeping soundly, was Draco Malfoy.

Harry's mind played with the possibilities for a few minutes. He could wake everyone up to see the boy wonder slumming it, but that probably wouldn't be a good idea. Then they'd know that he himself hadn't slept there last night, and that wouldn't make anyone very happy. Then another idea came to him. As soundlessly as possible, he rummaged through one of the shelves until he found Dudley's old Polaroid camera. A decidedly Malfoyesque smirk crossed his lips. This could be interesting after all.

An hour later, the rest of the family awoke to the smell of French toast, bacon, and coffee. Harry had used the extra time after Draco's unwitting photo session to cook a big breakfast for the family. Partly because it had become a habit with him, and partly because he was hoping it would help get Aunt Marge out of the house a little bit faster.

Dudley was the first one to come galumphing down the stairs. For someone who supposedly hated Harry in all aspects, he certainly appreciated his cooking. Without a word he sat down and started shoveling food into his mouth. Aunt Petunia followed a few minutes later. She looked utterly exhausted and confined herself to a cup of coffee for the time being.

Draco was the next to appear, looking resplendent as ever in his second Mugglest-looking outfit. "Thank you for cooking an excellent breakfast again, Harry," he said meekly, causing Harry to wonder what was going on him with lately and feel a little twinge of guilt about the incriminating pictures he'd just taken.

Uncle Vernon came crashing down the stairs next, muttering about being late for Grunnings and making a sandwich out of French toast and bacon to eat in the car. "Tell Marge I hope she has a safe trip," he muttered vaguely as he rushed out the door.

Finally, as everyone else was finishing up, Aunt Marge traipsed in. Her hair was all mussed, and she looked like she hadn't gotten much sleep at all. She had an odd expression on her face and was holding something in her hand. On closer inspection, Harry saw that it was a wand, but not his own. It must be Draco's.

"I found this stick on my bedside table last night," Marge said crossly. "You know how boys are always squirreling away odd little treasures, but something seems different about this one. I wonder what it is."

"I'm sure it's nothing important, Marge," Petunia said quickly. "Let me just take that from you now and dispose of it later." She grabbed the wand out of Marge's hand rather abruptly, and the whole room became very quiet as a stream of red and gold sparks came showering out of the end.


	14. Welcome to Hogwarts!

As usual, Draco was the first one to come up with a plausible explanation. He was starting to think that Muggles were a bit slower that wizards in their cognition. And Potter seemed to act just as vapid when he was around them for some reason, although Draco knew full well that he could be snappy with a comeback when he wanted to. At any rate, once again he took it upon himself to save the day, and not coincidentally, his wand. "I'll take that, Mrs. Dursley," he said, and deftly swiped it from her hand before she could do any more damage. "And Miss Dursley, I'm sorry to have left my magic wand on your nightstand there. It must have given you a turn, I'm sure. Did Mr. Dursley tell you I'm studying to be a magician?"

Aunt Marge shook her head dumbly. "Well, I am," he said. "Just watch me take a rabbit out of this hat." And he proceeded to do just that with a nifty little transfiguration charm he remembered.

"Very impressive, young man," Aunt Marge conceded. "Although I would have thought magic a bit too common for a boy of your obvious breeding."

"On the contrary, Miss Dursley," Draco responded ever so politely, "my father always says that knowing magic is the hallmark of a true gentleman." Although he'd never said it in exactly those words, it was certainly true, and it was enough to shut the old biddy up for the time being.

The rest of the breakfast went smoothly enough, and it wasn't too long before Aunt Marge's things were down in her car and she was pulling out of the driveway while the rest of the family plus Draco waved goodbye to her. It was a good thing, too, because just as her car rounded the corner, the owls started coming.

The first two were addressed to Harry. One was from Mafalda Hopkirk, bearing news of Harry's immediate expulsion for performing magic outside of Hogwarts. The second was from Dumbledore, promising that he would come and straighten things out as soon as possible. Neither of those letters were too surprising. So when the third owl to arrive flew up to Petunia, she waved it towards Harry impatiently. But it kept hovering and flying at her until she finally accepted the letter tied to its leg. She opened it up, started reading, and promptly collapsed on the ground. Harry was still busy with his owls, and Dudley had gone into the house and started eating again, so Draco took it upon himself to look at the letter. It was addressed to

Mrs. P. Dursley  
The Driveway  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey

and it said

Dear Mrs. Dursley,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Draco quickly turned to the other page and began to laugh. The book list was clearly marked "For first-year students."


	15. Interlude

Something had woken Petunia up. It was the sound of her baby crying. She'd read somewhere that mothers always tuned in to the sound of their babies crying even when nothing else could wake them up, and that seemed to be true even when the baby had just turned 17. She felt so woozy, but she must listen to Dudley's voice, hear what he was saying and if there was anything she could do to make it all better.

"…need her to be my Mummy," he was wailing. "She can't go away to Hogwarts. She just can't!"

The Malfoy boy was speaking to him then, in firm tones laced with just the right amount of compassion. "But don't you spend most of your time at Smeltings anyway, Dudley? When you're there it doesn't really matter if she's here or not, right?"

"But she couldn't send me letters and care packages from Hogwarts," Dudley sniffed. "And she couldn't call me on the phone. I'd have to be away from her for the whole year."

Her nephew's voice broke in then, impatient and not the least bit compassionate. "Don't you see that this whole thing is ridiculous? Do you honestly think that a 40-year-old woman is going to enroll as a first-year at a boarding school? Beyond that, do you honestly think your mother would ever want to go? And beyond that, do you honestly think that your father would ever let his wife enroll at Hogwarts?" Harry's voice had become louder with each question until he was shouting now. It hurt Petunia's head most dreadfully.

If Harry had expected his words to knock some sense into Dudley, it clearly hadn't worked, because he started wailing even louder than before. "What's wrong now, Dudley?" Harry snapped.

"It's Daddy. If he ever finds out Mummy's a witch, he'll kill her!"

Petunia wished that she could run into the living room, smother her son with kisses and reassure him that he was completely wrong, but she was afraid he was right, and she felt much too weak to get up anyway.

She lay back on the bed with a sigh. It was so lumpy and hard. Vaguely she started to wonder where she was. Cautiously she opened her eyes and stared up at a sloping ceiling with a bare lightbulb hanging from it. Ah, that explained it. She was in the cupboard under the stairs. With a sigh of resignation, she rolled over and went back to sleep.


	16. Dumbledore steps in

Albus Dumbledore had been having a very contented summer. Only he and Minerva had stayed behind at Hogwarts Castle this year; all the other professors had gone off to their respective homes or otherwise occupied themselves with exciting adventures. Even Severus, who had been a glowering fixture around Hogwarts every summer for the past 16 years, had surprised everyone with the news that he'd rented a little summer cottage in a place called Spinner's End. Dumbledore hoped he was having a wonderfully pleasant time there right now.

In the past few weeks, life at Hogwarts had settled into a pleasant routine for Albus and Minerva. They spent the days in their offices, Minerva working on the latest batch of Hogwarts letters and Albus catching up on reports filed by Order members. Although the threat of Voldemort was constantly in the back of his mind, things had been very quiet of late, and that was all Dumbledore could hope for at the moment. All in all, he was quite contented.

This morning had started like all the others, when suddenly the head of Mafalda Hopkirk had appeared in his fireplace. "Dumbledore," she'd called in her impatient way, "that Harry Potter has gotten himself expelled from Hogwarts again. Don't tell me you're going to get him out of it again."

Dumbledore sighed. As much as he loved Harry, and he did love him like the son he'd never had, he had to admit that the boy had an almost unbelievable knack for attracting trouble. "I'll go and straighten it out right away, Mafalda," he said dismissively, and her head vanished from the hearth a moment later.

Dumbledore knew that there had to be an explanation, but knowing Harry, it would neither be simple nor straightforward. It went without saying that Harry wasn't actually guilty, because that was the way these things always happened for him. But first things first. He summoned an owl from the owlery, scribbled a quick note advising Harry that he was coming, and then started out to make a series of calls.

An hour later, he finally apparated in front of Number Four Privet Drive with the usual loud crack. He half-expected Mrs. Dursley to come out of the house yelling at him to keep quiet, and the fact that she didn't alarmed him more than anything. He walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

Whatever he had been expecting, it was not for Draco Malfoy to answer the door. "It's about time you got here, sir," the boy said with a touch of bitterness. "Dudley won't stop crying, his mother's still passed out in the closet, and Potter's being as useless as ever."

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore asked, trying to keep the confusion he was feeling out of his voice, "would you kindly tell me what's going on here?"

"It's kind of hard to say, sir," Draco said, "but I guess it all started when Mrs. Dursley got her Hogwarts letter this morning."

Dumbledore couldn't take it anymore. He sat down heavily on the doorstep and started to laugh uncontrollably.


	17. A little explication

Draco couldn't understand how Dumbledore could act so emotionally and not even be ashamed of himself. His father had always taught him that the only emotion befitting a gentleman was a slight peevishness, best expressed with a raised eyebrow and a devastating yet witty remark. He'd never seen an adult lose control of himself the way Dumbledore was doing at the moment. It made him think rather less of the man, which he wouldn't have thought possible.

After Dumbledore finally pulled himself together, wiping his eyes with a large silk handkerchief and emitting a rather satisfied sigh, he calmly asked Draco to explain the situation to him. Draco did so, recounting all the events of the past few days to in exacting detail. He prided himself on his powers of observation, and he was proud he finally had the opportunity to show them off, even if Dumbledore was his only audience member. The headmaster listened carefully, nodding often and at times closing his eyes as if in order to visualize the scenes that Draco was describing. When he finally seemed satisfied, Dumbledore rose. "Gather everyone together in the drawing room in 10 minutes," he said. "In the meantime, do you know if there are any Muggle sweets around here?" Draco pointed mutely towards Dudley's room.

15 minutes later, everyone was arranged in the living room. Dumbledore stood in front of the television set (which Dudley had at first tried to peer around him to see, even though it was currently off), and Potter, Mrs. Dursley and her crybaby son sat facing him on the sofa. As a non-member of the family (thank Merlin!), Draco sat apart from the group somewhat, in a straight-backed chair in the corner where he was still sure to hear everything that went on. He was sure he'd get all kinds of tidbits for the Dark Lord in a meeting such as this.

"The matter of Harry's expulsion from Hogwarts is the easiest to solve, so I'll deal with that first," Dumbledore began. "I have once again appealed to my friends at the Wizengamot to allow this matter to be brought before them in a hearing, which is to take place on Thursday, two days from today. Young Mr. Malfoy has informed me that the first use of magic that took place here was his, and he has further informed me that he will be staying here until Friday, so I have prevailed upon him to testify in your behalf, Harry." Potter glanced at Draco in the corner with a shocked expression, which peeved him to no end. Honestly, didn't the Gryffindor realize that Slytherins have a sense of honor too? Since testifying would not hurt Draco in any way and could undoubtedly help Harry, he was obligated to do so, personal feelings aside.

Dumbledore continued. "I have not yet decided whether your testimony in this matter, Mrs. Dursley, would be helpful or would only serve to muddy the waters. I will think on this matter further and let you know my decision on Friday morning."

Dudley had been squirming ever since Dumbledore started talking, and now he could take no more. "Please, Dumbledore," he begged, "don't take my mummy away to Hogwarts with you. I need her here."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore intoned, "the matter of Mrs. Dursley's Hogwarts letter. Let me first explain how that happened. When a child first uses magic, his or her name is added to a list of children who will be invited to Hogwarts when they turn 11. For many wizarding children, this happens within a few months of their birth. Harry, for instance, appeared on the list of future Hogwarts students at the tender age of 6 weeks. However, sometimes children, especially those raised in Muggle homes, take much longer to uncover their latent magical abilities. In some rare cases, a child has been over 11 when he or she first does so. In these instances, they are invited to Hogwarts immediately.

"As you probably know, Harry, Professor McGonagall spends a good deal of her summer dealing with the letters to be sent to new and returning students. What you may not know is that much of this process is automated. Quills are enchanted to copy the routine text of the letters and address them to the students on the list for each grade. This process is going on right now. The letter to Mrs. Dursley must have been mixed in with all the others that were to go out today, and therefore Minerva did not grasp its significance.

"So Dudley, you can rest assured that nobody set out to deprive you of your mother. However, now that the letter has been sent, it is binding on Hogwarts but not on the recipient. In other words, should Petunia Dursley choose to enter Hogwarts next fall, we will be obligated to accept her as a pupil, but she is under no obligation to attend."

After this long speech, the old wizard looked a bit winded. He paused for breath and drew up a chair. Meanwhile, Dudley was pulling at his mother's sleeve. "You aren't going to go, are you, Mummy? Tell the man you're not going to go so he'll leave us alone."

Mrs. Dursley looked more pensive than Draco would have imagined. "I don't think I'm going to go, Dudders," she said, "but Mummy hasn't made up her mind yet. Be a good boy and let Mummy think about it a little while." Dudley started to wail again. Dumbledore reached into his robe, pulled out a chocolate frog and handed it to the boy. "Chocolate can be a great source of comfort in stressful times," he said soothingly. "But judging from the selection I saw in your room, I imagine you've already figured that out for yourself." In his corner, Draco rolled his eyes.

Dumbledore turned to address Petunia. "There's one thing I still don't understand," he said. "There has never been a case of someone uncovering magical ability at your age, it's true, but what puzzles me even more is that you should have been thoroughly tested when your sister Lily started school. What happened?"

"I suppose I was afraid," Petunia said softly. "I came home from school and there was this strange looking man wearing a pointed hat and long robes. He said he wanted to examine me. My parents were trying to coax me to go with him, so I did the only sensible thing: I ran away and didn't come back until after dark when I was sure he'd gone."

"That must have been traumatic for you," Dumbledore empathized. "Is this when you decided to have nothing to do with wizards?"

"I guess so," Petunia said hesitantly. "It just seemed like there was something dangerous about them. I didn't want anything to do with it. And I certainly never thought there was something like that inside of me."

"How did you feel this morning when you held that wand in your hand?"

"It made me feel all warm inside. It felt good, even natural." Her eyes, which had been warm for a moment, turned cold again. "Dumbledore, I just don't know what I'm going to do now."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled kindly. "Right now, I think you should start making supper, because it's almost 5 o'clock and your husband will be here any moment. I'll return tomorrow and we can talk further, but for now I must leave you." With that, Dumbledore put on his hat, picked up his wand, and headed out the door.


End file.
